Gang aft agley
by newgirl87
Summary: Season 5 Christmas Special Spoilers! After Christmas eve, Mr. Carson cannot sleep for thoughts of a certain Scottish woman. He hatches a plan perfect for Christmas, but, as the saying goes, the best laid plans often go awry. With guest appearances of all our favorite characters, poor Mrs. Hughes must follow through on tradition, even if it means kissing hall boys. (Long One Shot)


_I got this stuck in my head and had to write it down. Reviews are always appreciated. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

"It's a good thing you didn't let the maids put up any mistletoe," she had said. "Otherwise we might never make it upstairs."

With those words ringing in his ears it was no wonder the poor old butler of Downton Abbey couldn't catch a wink of sleep. Turning from his back to his side, and then again from his side to his back, Carson wrestled himself into forgetting any thoughts of the little housekeeper he could now call his own. His Elsie. He wondered when she might let him call her that. And he still couldn't settle, Charles or Charlie? A thought nudged him as to how thrilled she'd be if he told her she could call him Charlie. Her face would light up and she would lean in - but no. No contemplating Mrs. Hughes tonight, he told himself, again.

If only he could kiss her.

The mere thought of it forced him to throw the covers from his bed. He sprang up. His thoughts betraying every fiber of his moral being; he realized that if he indulged just a smidgen he might be allowed to settle down and sleep a few hours. After all, Christmas Day was an important event at Downton and he wished to be at his very butler best. Yet somehow, even now, with the smallest traces of guilt, Carson knew that Christmas Day 1924 would not feel nearly as important as the fact that she had agreed. She had agreed to marry him.

He shook his head. Touching his arm, he could still feel the pressure of her hand. Of course he had wanted to kiss her there and then but he would never offend her. He was a man, and as such would have to control himself much more than she ever would. She certainly wasn't in bed dreaming of his kisses.

"I'll have to wait until the wedding." He mumbled, settling back in bed.

Or kiss her cheek, said a voice in his head. A voice which sounded mysteriously like Mr. Barrow's.

Of course he would never do anything Mr. Barrow thought proper. Even if he wanted to, which he didn't, unless she did, but even so, it wouldn't be right, was there a way to make it right, certainly not, she would slap him, he'd deserve it, unless there was a way -

And like all good things Carson had ever thought of, it was Mrs. Hughes who had supplied the answer.

Mistletoe. He would pin up some mistletoe on Mrs. Hughes' sitting room door frame. He would get up early and beat her downstairs and with the mistletoe above their heads he could kiss her cheek properly. And since she always started her days early they were likely to be unobserved. Plus he could give her the gift he had stowed safely in his sock drawer.

With that cheering thought he climbed out of bed and set the plan to motion.

* * *

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Patmore." Mrs. Hughes greeted, walking into her sitting room.

Mrs. Patmore offered her superior a wry smile. "Happy Christmas."

The odd smile stopped Mrs. Hughes in her tracks. She eyed the cook a moment before asking, "What's going on?"

Mrs. Patmore nodded to something just above Mrs. Hughes' head. "When d'you think that got there?"

Mrs. Hughes had to step out of her sitting room to see what she meant. There, on the mantle of her door frame, sat a small sprig of mistletoe. Keeping her shock at bay, the head housekeeper shook her head, "I've no idea. Last night I would assume."

The cook danced around to the other side of the counter. "What's holding it up there?"

Mrs. Hughes looked a little closer, squinting at the glinting metal. She couldn't hold her shock in this time as a slight redness started climbing up her neck.

"I don't know," she lied.

The two women stared at the offending twig.

"Well?" Mrs. Patmore said at last.

"Well what?" The shock of the luckenbooth had brought Mrs. Hughes a momentary lapse of propriety.

"Aren't you gonna take it down? Find out who did it?"

"I know who did it." said Mrs. Hughes without thinking.

It was Mrs. Patmore's turn to look shocked. "Do you? Well who was it then? Mr. Barrow?"

"No." Mrs. Hughes smoothed out her dress, "Never you mind who did it. Now, I've got to get on."

The two women parted, each shaking their head at the other. Carson arrived in time to watch them separate. His plan to wake early had failed, as he should have known it would have. Never in his life had Carson been an early riser, his younger days as a stage performer having seen to that. Living at Downton meant he always went to bed as early as possible, and last night he had only three hours sleep. He had never dressed more quickly in his life.

His plan to talk to Mrs. Hughes was ruined, however, by the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Bates. Carson quickly ducked into his pantry, offering a mere nod to the couple.

As Anna hung up their coats, Mr. Bates knocked on Mrs. Hughes' door.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Bates." She smiled warmly turning in her desk chair. "Now those are words I'm very glad to be able to say."

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hughes. I am glad to return them." Mr. Bates crinkled eyes added sincerity to his gruff voice, "I was wondering something."

"Oh yes?"

He turned to smile at Anna, and titled his head to show he wanted a private word. Mrs. Hughes walked up to him curious.

"Yes?" she whispered.

"It's about Mr. Molesley and Ms. Baxter." He explained, his voice as low as he could make it. "We wanted to thank them properly, for everything they've done for us. Have them over for dinner, or luncheon. If you could spare them. And us."

"I see. Well, I don't mind Ms. Baxter going, or Anna. But you'll have to talk to Mr. Carson about Mr. Molesley." She shared a look with Anna. Poor girl was smiling so broadly; she had missed her husband so dearly.

"Of course. But, can we rely on your support?" Mr. Bates asked.

"Of course you can." She turned to head back to her work.

"Wait, Mrs. Hughes." said Anna.

Mrs. Hughes turned back around, always happy to pause her work to help a friend.

"Anna? What is it?" Mr. Bates asked.

Mrs. Hughes noted that the girl's smiles had taken over her face; she looked fit to burst. Then she realized what Anna was looking at.

"Oh dear." Mrs. Hughes cast her eyes at the mistletoe.

Hanging his head to hide his smile, Mr. Bates said, "I see."

Neither of them could look at the other in that moment. Mr. Bates looked at Anna, who was practically dancing in her shoes. Mrs. Hughes stared at her own toes before finding the courage she needed. When she finally looked up, Mr. Bates was wearing a grin of apology.

"Well. Here goes." She had to stand on her toes to reach him, but eventually she closed the space between them and placed a small kiss on Mr. Bates' cheek. It felt right that she should be the one to do it. She was technically his superior and therefore the one with the power to choose how such a thing was handled.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." Mr. Bates said when it was done. He turned and offered his arm to Anna, who took it gleefully.

Mrs. Hughes shook her head, wondering if Mr. Carson knew what he had gotten her into.

* * *

The servants hall was nothing but talk of Christmas plans. The festivities during the upcoming lunch time many hadn't seen before. Andy reveled in the stories Mr. Molesely told of Downton Christmases gone by. Mr. Carson spent his breakfast eying Mrs. Hughes whenever he felt she wasn't looking. But Mrs. Hughes listened to the banter between Mr. and Mrs. Bates, keeping herself firmly removed from the butler's line of inquiry. She didn't know what she was going to say to him, and whatever it ended up being she hoped she could say it privately, in his pantry, without the whole world looking on. It was unfortunate, really, she had been so excited to see Mr. Carson, or Charlie, as she liked to think of him; but now she didn't know what she could say without making either of them terribly uncomfortable.

Of course, the conversation was mostly hushed regarding the mistletoe. The maids, thrilled to see their boss taking in the spirit of things, did not want Mr. Carson to enforce the removal of the charm and so spoke quietly, heads together.

Mr. Barrow ruined the maids' moment by stating loud enough for everyone to hear, "Of course, you'll never know who did it, Mrs. Hughes."

"Why? Did you put it there?" challenged Mr. Bates.

"No -"

"I doubt anyone would admit it if they did." chided Anna. Mr. Bates smiled wanly at his wife.

"That's very true." said Ms. Baxter.

"All I'm saying," continued Mr. Barrow, "is that Mrs. Hughes has been kind to everyone at this table, any one of us might want to give her a little kiss."

"Really, Mr. Barrow." Mrs. Hughes chanced a glance her fiance, feeling herself turn red.

"Well, any one except Mr. Carson." Barrow finished.

Mr. Carson replied by choking on his tea.

Mrs. Hughes reached out to him in horror. "Are you alright?" The word 'dear' nearly fell from her lips as well, but her years of propriety kept it in check. Fear rushed through her, however, as he continued to cough, making her forget her near miss. She was half standing, her hand on his shoulder. He waved her off.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." He growled, his face now redder than hers. She nodded and sat back down. Warmth had spread from his body into her hand. She longed to touch him again, but knew even the slightest hint of compassion would be a surprise to the younger staff. And as she had told Mr. Carson the night before, she didn't want anyone to know until Boxing day.

Still, Mrs. Hughes stared at Mr. Carson, worry tinging her dark blue eyes. Once she heard a deep sigh come from him she felt she could settle her own breath, "Now, Mr. Barrow, we'll have no more of that kind of talk, we don't need to give Mr. Carson a heart attack at breakfast."

"I'm fine." Carson said, nearly patting her arm. He wouldn't, couldn't, look at her, instead refocusing on the porridge in front of him.

"I'm surprised you haven't had it taken down, Mr. Carson." said Mr. Molesely.

Carson gently put down his spoon. In truth, he didn't quite know why he hadn't taken it down either, except that with the kiss she had given Mr. Bates there was hope he might still get one of his own. "As it is her sitting room, it is for Mrs. Hughes to decide whether or not she wants it taken down."

"So why haven't you taken it down, Mrs. Hughes?" Mr. Barrow asked.

She was saved responding by Mr. Bates.

"It's too late, I'm afraid." Mr. Bates started.

"That's true," She chuckled, finding a way of answering without answering, "Mr. Bates was my first victim this morning."

"I wouldn't say I was a victim, Mrs. Hughes. I did not mind." Mr. Bates apologized

"It's not you who I worry will mind." Mrs. Hughes looked down the table at Anna.

Anna shrugged, "I don't mind. It was quite funny, really."

Mr. Barrow opened his mouth to speak, but whatever it was he was going to say was swallowed by the tinkling of bells.

"Let's go everybody. Looks like they're all awake early." Mr. Carson stood up. The staff followed suit.

* * *

"Mr. Carson said he could dress His Lordship this morning." Anna said, giddy about her husband's renewed arrival at Downton. She and Lady Mary effortlessly went through their morning dressing routine as they spoke.

Lady Mary smiled, "Well that will be a nice Christmas present for papa, no doubt, seeing his long lost valet."

"It is a wonderful Christmas present, my Lady," Anna said. Tears sprang to her eyes. "I've never been so happy."

"You owe quite a debt to Molesely and Ms. Baxter," said Lady Mary. She leaned her head to the side to allow Anna easier access to her hair.

"I know." Anna squinted at the pins in her hands. With Lady Mary's hair so short, there wasn't as much for her to do now. "Mr. Bates and I would like to have them over for luncheon, or dinner, if we can manage it."

"You'll have a hard time convincing Carson to let go of one of his footmen during dinner." Lady Mary said.

"Mr. Bates talked to Mrs. Hughes about it this morning." Anna said, "We might be able to convince him if she's on our side."

"Oh? Is Mrs. Hughes so powerful that she can sway the mountain that is Carson?"

Anna laughed, "Sometimes, my lady. Not always, but sometimes."

"How impressive." Lady Mary stood, accepting the jewelry Anna had picked out for the day, "I should congratulate her on that. Though I suppose after working alongside him so long she must know a thing or two about him. I wonder if he'll get a kiss."

"I daresay she does, My Lady." Anna added the last necklace. "But I very much doubt Mr. Carson will go near Mrs. Hughes' sitting room today."

The two women shared a laugh. Checking herself once in the mirror, Lady Mary nodded, satisfied as always with her lady's maid.

"Before I head downstairs, Anna, I wanted you to know, Mr. Branson and I will be going up to London." Lady Mary rolled her eyes, "Some stupid man never sent the package we need for His Lordship's present and now we have to fetch it."

"Oh, would my Lady like me to come with?" Anna asked. She dreaded the thought of leaving her husband after only just seeing him returned safely.

"No, no, it won't do to spoil your Christmas day as well as mine. I'll be back before dinner." Lady Mary smiled, "And when I get back I expect you to tell me who else got a kiss from Mrs. Hughes."

* * *

The menu for New Years had never been trickier. Lady Grantham spent an hour with Mrs. Hughes going over the guest list and then working out a plan for Lord Addams. The older man suffered from so many allergies it was a wonder he was still alive. Dreading the thought of how Mrs. Patmore was going to take the news, Mrs. Hughes steeled herself for the conversation she was about to have. Still, it was better to get it over with than put it off.

When she returned downstairs, she couldn't find the cook anywhere. Luncheon had been finished, so it was possible Mrs. Patmore had gone out for something or other. Daisy appeared to be missing too. Breathing a sigh of relief that she wouldn't have to deal with Mrs. Patmore screaming about no strawberries, Mrs. Hughes retired to her sitting room to finish some accounts.

A knock on her door startled her from her addition. She turned, hoping to see Mr. Carson. Instead she found the grinning face of Mr. Barrow, who stood framed in her doorway.

"How may I help you, Mr. Barrow?" She asked.

"Well, I'm here for my kiss." He said plainly, the grin widening ever so slightly.

A loud crash from the other side of her wall told her Mr. Carson was not only in his pantry, but had also heard Mr. Barrow's proclamation.

"I see." She said. She looked away from him as three thoughts collided in her mind: Mr. Barrow's sole existence was trouble making (this was not the first time she had that thought); if she kissed Mr. Barrow, Mr. Carson would fume and it was always fun to tease Mr. Carson; if she kissed Mr. Barrow, then it was not unlikely that others would follow, making it less difficult for Mr. Carson to ask for the same. The last thought she realized was foolish, as she had assumed the purpose of Mr. Carson's placement of mistletoe was precisely so they would have the chance to - her face burned at the thought.

"Mrs. Hughes?" Mr. Barrow said, "I feel quite jealous, you kissing Mr. Bates."

"Do you? Well, I'd never thought I'd hear those words."

She stood up and took the three small steps to reach the doorway.

"Besides, it is tradition." Barrow added.

"You're confusing me with Mr. Carson." She laughed, "But if I must, I must."

She tiptoed up and kissed him gently on his check. A small part of her knew she had kissed Mr. Bates longer, mere seconds longer, but it was a comforting thought nonetheless. She had also purposefully spoken loudly and wondered what Mr. Carson thought of their exchange. When she pulled away she was surprised to see the young man had blushed.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." And with that he spun on his heel and marched away. No doubt to tell Andy.

As she watched him go, the imposing figure of Mr. Carson obstructed her view. He stood in his own doorway, feet away from where many naughty things could happen - many of them playing through her mind as she took in the sight of his brown eyes bearing down upon her. They had barely shared a glance since the night before, and she was glad to find his eyes the same as ever; gentle and kind, with the hint of passion he had thought he lost.

"Mrs. Hughes, might I have a word?"

* * *

"But I had told you, I wanted to wait till Boxing day before we tell them all." She said, hoping against hope she wasn't shouting.

"No one's going to recognize it. How many people know what a luckenbooth is?" Carson replied.

She tried desperately not to roll her eyes at him. Instead she stepped closer, as was her want whenever they argued, "It's a Scottish tradition and there are plenty people here who have spent time in Scotland. They'll recognize an engagement brooch. If anything it'll probably be Mr. Barrow who does, the one man who couldn't keep a secret even if he wanted to. Besides, you knew what it was."

"But it's so small." He said.

Wishing she had something better to do with her hands, as they ached to grab his, she asked, "Why is it so small?"

He looked away. Clearing his throat he said quietly, "I thought, if it were small, it would be unobtrusive enough for you to wear. If you so wished."

She fought back a smile, and failed miserably. Staring at the door behind him, she said, "I would."

She knew he was smiling before she even looked at him. The atmosphere had changed completely and she was prepared to accept the fact that he might very well not need the mistletoe to achieve his end.

Somehow the distance between them had shortened. Whether it was herself or him, she couldn't be sure, but they stood there, staring at one another smiling. She would kiss him. But she didn't want to shock him. Not just yet.

He was the first to break the gaze. Recognizing the telltale signs of Mr. Carson's nerves - squaring his shoulders and pursing his lips - he was about to ask something he wasn't prepared to ask. She hoped she was prepared to answer.

"Why do you want to wait to tell them?" His voice was soft, but they were so close she could feel it vibrate across her chest.

She smiled at one of the buttons on his shirt. Unsure why, she felt uneasy with the answer she wanted to give, so instead she asked, "When did you buy it?"

"Buy what?"

"The luckenbooth?" She fought back the urge to play with the button she was staring at. "It didn't arrive over night."

The mood broke. He stepped back, an odd smile played on his lips. She had never seen him look in such a way.

"Stalemate." He said, then opened the door and walked away into the hallway.

Her jaw nearly dropped. Mr. Carson was teasing her.

* * *

The gong went off just as Lady Mary and Tom Branson returned from their trip up north. Carson took their coats, noting the snow that had accumulated outside over the day.

"Carson, please tell Anna I've arrived." Lady Mary said. She eyed the butler carefully to see if there was any change in his demeanor. Somehow, she felt she would know if Carson received a kiss from a woman.

Carson nodded, "I will, my lady."

Lady Mary smiled wanly, noted nothing out of the ordinary with her favorite butler and headed upstairs to meet her maid.

Anna arrived a minute after Mary had walked through the door. The fire was still going, but the temperature had dropped outside, making a slight chill in the room. Anna took note to tell Daisy when she returned downstairs. The chill made the change of dress faster than usual.

"Well?" Asked Lady Mary after a while, "Any more gossip from downstairs?"

Anna chuckled. "Too much gossip I'm afraid."

"Go on."

"Apparently, Peter the hall boy and Andy were caught playing cards by Mr. Carson." Anna said. She showed her lady the bracelets she had picked out. Lady Mary choose her favorite one; the one Mathew had given her on her birthday, the year before he died.

"That was not the gossip I was referring to." Lady Mary said, "Don't tease, Anna."

"If you're referring to Mrs. Hughes, than I may have more than just gossip."

"Oh?"

"I know for a fact she has kissed Mr. Bates, Mr. Barrow, Andy, and Mr. Moseley." Anna chuckled, "And there's a rumor that some of the hall boys might try their luck."

"Heavens. I never knew Mrs. Hughes was so popular." She stood still as Anna placed the latest necklace, bought in London that day, around her neck. "But not Carson?"

"No." Anna bit her lip, "Mr. Bates and I have a, well, a friendly bet, I suppose you could say."

"I hope the odds aren't too high."

"Not at all, My Lady." Anna looked down as she explained, "We have very different taste in tea, My Lady. Mr. Bates prefers Earl Grey, while I prefer simple black tea. Whoever wins the bet buys the tea for the week."

"I see. I'm afraid you may be playing with fire." Lady Mary teased, "What is the bet then?"

"Well, Mr. Bates doesn't think Mr. Carson will go for a kiss."

Lady Mary nodded. They had finished and were heading out the door. "And you think he will?"

Anna looked around, careful now they were out of the privacy of Lady Mary's room, "It's not that I think he will. That is - that's what I've agreed to in the bet. That Mr. Carson will go to Mrs. Hughes before the end of the night, for his turn. But I don't actually think he will."

The two women paused in the middle of the hallway. "Then why did you take the bet?"

"Because Mr. Bates -" She couldn't find the words, not without shedding a few tears.

"Because Mr. Bates has returned and you want to make him happy, no matter what." Lady Mary supplied.

"Exactly."

* * *

Andrew and Molesely had finished serving. They stood silently at their post while Mr. Carson eyed the wine levels in every glass. The entire family sat around the table chatting lightly. The Dowager countess had just finished scolding Mary and Tom about leaving the family on Christmas day when the discussion took a turn Carson wasn't entirely comfortable with.

"Anna tells me there's mistletoe downstairs." Lady Mary started, looking up at Carson.

"What?" Lady Grantham said then quickly took a sip of wine.

"It sits above Mrs. Hughes' sitting room." Lady Mary continued.

"Is this true, Carson?" Lady Grantham asked.

Carson took a turn to steady himself, then said, "Yes, it is, Your Ladyship."

"Well now, how can this be?" said the Dowager. Her face had fallen into it's portrait of disgust. She turned around in her chair just to see how Carson was handling the discussion.

"I think it sounds fun." said Mrs. Crawley.

"Of course you do." said the Dowager.

Lord Grantham looked around the table. Still not entirely used to drinking, he found himself lightheaded even after his first glass of wine. "Carson, how do you feel about all this?"

"I've left it up to Mrs. Hughes, My Lord." Carson stared resolutely at the other side of the dinning room.

"Quite right," Lady Edith chimed in, "it's her sitting room after all." .

"No my dear, it is not her sitting room. Nothing in this house is hers." the Dowager explained.

"Mama, if Carson doesn't find it a big deal, then neither should we." Lord Grantham said. Relief flooded Carson at those words. He didn't want Mrs. Hughes in trouble, and he wasn't entirely prepared to take the fall in front of Andy and Mr. Molesley, though if it came to it, he would.

"Quite right." Lady Mary said, to the surprise of her grandmother, "Carson would know best. Although Anna also tells me Mrs. Hughes has been besieged by some of the male staff members."

"How horrifying." said the Dowager.

"I'm sure Mrs. Hughes can handle her own." Tom said, his smile a little too bright.

"How true." said Mrs. Crawley earning a glare from the Dowager.

"I was rather surprised I didn't hear your name on the list of suitors, Carson." Lady Mary said.

Carson couldn't help the awe that plastered his face. Lady Mary was so close to the truth it was unsettling. Unsure how to respond, he felt a sudden fondness for Mrs. Crawley who spoke just then.

"Why is that surprising?"

"Truly. If anyone would show Mrs. Hughes the proper respect, it's Carson." said Lady Grantham. Carson found his fondness swelling for both women. He thanked God neither of them knew the truth.

"I'm simply saying, I think Mrs. Hughes would probably prefer to kiss Carson than any of the others."

"Now, why on earth would you say such a thing?" the Dowager countess, unknowingly, had fallen back into her way of asking exactly the question Carson himself wished to ask.

Steadying himself against the wall, Carson found breath difficult to come by. His thoughts raced - did Lady Mary know of his engagement? How had Anna found out? Why would Anna speak to Lady Mary before speaking to himself - it wasn't like her at all.

"They've known each other for years. How long has Mrs. Hughes been here, Carson?" Lady Mary asked.

"Twenty one years." said Carson unhesitatingly.

"There. I would much rather kiss someone I've known forever than some footman who won't last the year."

Tom stole a glance at Andy and shot him a wink. Only Carson noticed and kept his bristling envy to himself. At that moment the Dowager swiftly changed the subject to Tom's leaving. Whether she was disappointed or not was difficult to tell, but Carson didn't care either way. He was now spared.

The change in topic didn't last long. As the family adjourned dinner, Tom made the pronouncement that he too would head downstairs to pay Mrs. Hughes a visit.

"Now, really, Tom. Mrs. Hughes has a lot to put up with, you do not need to add to that." Lady Grantham said.

"I don't think it's quite like that. She's the mother downstairs. Who wouldn't want a kiss from their mother?" Tom nodded his goodnight but was stalled.

"I'm coming with you. I want to see what all the fuss is about." Mary said.

* * *

"He can't have strawberries, he can't have nuts, he can't have pineapple, he can't have honey, well what on earth does he eat? He must be as thin as a footman's skin and no mistake." Mrs. Patmore said.

She and Mrs. Hughes sat drinking tea going over the New Years menu. As Mrs. Hughes had guessed, the old cook was not pleased at the list of restrictions. "What's really unfortunate is in order to make him feel he's not getting special treatment, you have to make the entire menu that way. Which in my book, is a lot more special treatment than if he had his own plate."

"You said it." Mrs. Patmore shook her head. She adjusted her glasses and scanned the grocery list again.

"The other problem is, you'll have to do a thorough cleaning of everything. Even the slightest trace might cause a reaction." Mrs. Hughes had held this information back as long as possible.

But the cook just sighed, "I know. I had an aunt with a nut allergy. We cleaned that stove every night till our hands were as black as a coal miner's lungs."

"I see." Mrs. Hughes tried hard to not look too happy her friend wasn't angry. A shadow across the doorway made her look up. She smiled in surprise.

"Hello, Mr. Branson." She said.

"Hello, Mrs. Hughes."

"Oh, not you as well." Said Mrs. Patmore.

The young man chuckled. He was the only one of the family to laugh with his whole body. Though Mrs. Hughes supposed that came from his background and a lack of proper upbringing.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Branson?" asked Mrs. Hughes.

Mr. Branson nodded at Mrs. Patmore, "Mrs. Patmore is right. I'm here for my kiss."

Sighing, Mrs. Hughes rose from her chair. She walked slowly and was surprised to find Lady Mary lurking just beyond the doorway. "Good Evening, M'Lady."

"Good Evening, Mrs. Hughes. I hope you don't mind Mr. Branson, but we discussed it upstairs and I'm afraid he was feeling a bit left out."

"And so I was." Mr. Branson was kind enough to look sheepish about it. His eyes kept darting up to the mantle and back at Mrs. Hughes.

"Well, I'm afraid I've gotten used to it. And if I can kiss a couple hall boys, I can certainly give you one as well, Mr. Branson." Mrs. Hughes said.

Branson nodded, he looked up one last time, his smile widening, "Only if you're sure. I wouldn't want to be stepping on anybody's toes."

Mrs. Hughes kissed his check and it was only after that his words caught up with her. They starred at each other. Him with a knowing smile and her in a stupor of surprise. The sound of heavy footsteps broke their gaze. Mr. Carson barreled down the hallway, a decanter swinging loosely in his hand.

"Ah, my lady, the others have gone up." He said when he reached them, "I was wondering if you and Mr. Branson would still like some more wine."

As Carson and Lady Mary spoke, Mr. Branson carefully passed his eyes from Mr. Carson to Mrs. Hughes, making sure Mrs. Hughes followed his gaze. After a moment, she nodded. Branson looked to the floor to hide his brightest smile.

"Well, if you won't be needing anything else -" Carson said

"Actually, there is something." Lady Mary said, keeping her voice steady. "It appears to me that every male in this house, aside from my father and you, have had the pleasure of a kiss from Mrs. Hughes."

Rage followed those words. Rage at himself for setting up the whole thing, and rage that he had been so left out of such a wonderful gift. No sign of his boiling anger showed through though. He waited patiently for Lady Mary to enlighten him as to where her words were taking them.

"Well, don't you want one?" She asked boldly.

Branson went stock still, his smile as fixed as a picture. Mrs. Hughes stared at the floor, wishing she didn't have to listen. A part of her wanted to put him out of his misery and just tell them all the truth. But, he had gotten himself into this mess, he could get himself out.

"I -" He looked to Mrs. Hughes. Not because he wanted to, but because he always did when he found himself unsure. She offered him a small smile. It was almost sad in a way.

"Oh, come here." She said, freeing him from saying anything at all. She moved from her doorway, away from the mistletoe, placed a light hand on his arm to steady herself, and gently brushed his cheek with her lips. She felt him shiver.

She didn't let go of his arm, finding her balance was slow to return. A rare feeling of gratitude rose inside her towards Lady Mary. Mr. Branson's mouth was agape, but she couldn't fault him for that.

"There. Now Anna won't have to drink some horrible tea. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." and with that, Lady Mary swept away down the hall.

"What was that about?" Mrs. Hughes wondered, surprising herself that her voice still worked.

"I haven't a clue." Mr. Branson said. He looked between the two heads of staff, "Congratulations. To you both."

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes watched Mr. Branson walk down the hall. Carson chanced at glance at his Elsie. She still clutched his arm. She found little reason to let go. Both jumped when they heard the raspy voice of the cook behind them. Mrs. Hughes' hand fell from him, and Carson found his heart rate doubled in disappointment.

"Congratulations on what?" Mrs. Patmore asked.

The two heads shared a look. Carson smiled, "It is nearly Boxing day."

"What's happening on Boxing day?" Mrs. Patmore asked.

Mrs. Hughes smiled. Checking first with Mr. Carson that he didn't mind telling the cook before telling the family, a look was all that was needed for her to know he wasn't against it.

She took Mr. Carson's hand firmly in her own and said, "Mrs. Patmore, you might want to sit down."

THE END


End file.
